


Luxury

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:09:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4715651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tauriel and Kíli enjoy one another raw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luxury

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Just the two of them petting each other and enjoying it, the way they contrast and compliment each other physically” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/8973.html?thread=19100429#t19100429).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They come near nightfall, when her watch duties are over and there are less elves about to witness them, some respecting her choices but most with silent judgment. Tauriel contents herself with Thranduil’s leave. Her peers may not understand her, but her king’s finally let her lover visit, and that’s all she needs. 

She takes Kíli by the hand down into the lower chambers of their keep, past the underground waterfall and the hot springs, to the little side chamber carved out of the trunk of a tree, wide enough for maybe five elves to lie down side by side. Kíli, thankfully, is shorter, and it seems roomier with just the two of them inside. Tauriel closes the wooden door behind her, and Kíli looks about at the candlelit walls, deep and grooved. A tall chimney lets in a sliver of the sky and brings in the cool air, because the rest is all steam rising from the heated leaves around the brim. The floor is plush grass and moss and ferns. It’s beautiful, like most of her home, even though she’s learned it doesn’t hold the monopoly on art in their world. 

Tauriel strips her clothes with a restrained eagerness, nodding for Kíli to do the same. He grins at her and follows. Even as she unfastens the complex laces of her own armour, her eyes fix on his stout body—first one heavy coat falling from his shoulders, then a plate of armour to pull over his head. Her favourite part is when he peels his tunic off, and the blue fabric leaves creamy skin behind, darker than hers and matted with brown hair, broad muscles, taut here and fat there. Kíli’s body is a fascinating landscape of hills and contours. Tauriel’s down to her tights when Kíli’s kicking out of his trousers, and she’s unsurprised to find no undergarments beneath. 

They hang their clothes on pegs, poking out of the sides like branches. Elves have nothing to be self-conscious for, but she’s particularly comfortable bare around Kíli, as though this is simply their natural state that they’ve returned to—it made no sense to have clothes between them. She slips her hand back into his. He squeezes his thick, stubby fingers around her long, slender ones, and she guides him to the center of the alcove, through the clouds of grey-white steam. 

As Tauriel lies down on her side, Kíli comes with her, unperturbed by lying on the earth. He’s never afraid of dirt, though the lush grass covers it all. It’s soft and comfortable, but not as much so as him. They face one another, only a few scant centimeters apart, and the humid air coils around them but doesn’t obscure the pleasant view. 

At first, she only looks at him. This is a place of relaxing, of unwinding tired muscles, of giving spent warriors the thrill of the air’s massage. But Kíli has a way of making her heart beat too fast. He smiles at her, so radiant and wonderful, like she’s _his whole world_ , and all of this pales in comparison. She can’t help but grin back. She reaches out one hand to draw his dark, wavy-matted hair behind one rounded ear, her palm dragging across his prickly stubble. Then she traces his jaw, wondering if she should trim it again or leave it like this: coarse and exotic. It feels strange against her, particularly when he kisses her breasts or her thighs, but she’s grown to like the scratch of it, and he wouldn’t be so much _Kíli_ without it. He mirrors her, extending searching fingers to her smooth cheek. She leans into it, nuzzles his palm and kisses his wrist, and he murmurs, “You’re beautiful.”

“And you are handsome,” she replies, silken and easy. She shifts forward enough to kiss his brow, and her hand strays down through his hair to his shoulder. 

His arms are very thick, hardened at the bulge of muscle but soft around the rest, as furry as his chest and darker still above the line of his sleeves. She pets it idly, stroking back and forth, before straying down to his broad chest, where his breast is pushed together from the slump of his position, dimpling a seam into the middle. She’s used to the tight expanse of elves, but she enjoys more the plump curves of Kíli, and she runs her finger pads over everything. She traces his brown nipples, thumbs at the little buds already bidden out by the steam, and he tentatively brings his hand down to her breasts. She only smiles, encouraging—he has as much free roam of her body as she does of his. She explores, and he nearly worships, until he gets away with one tight squeeze that makes her gasp, and then he’s kneading her flesh more openly. She lets him toy with her, until she’s had to squirm too much and bites down a moaned, “ _Kíli_ ,” hushed and warning. He nods and releases his hold of her, hand straying down to rest on her slim hip. 

She explores his chest a little more, careful not to play with him so overtly, because it’s _tempting_ , but that sort of thing isn’t for this place. Dwarves love freely. Tauriel _loves that_ , but for now, she just wants to pet the body of her lover, and she keeps her touch languid and light: just a promise of everything they have.

His hips are more chiseled, well defined but still thick enough to squeeze, and she does so. He grunts and wrinkles his nose cutely. Then she slips her hand between his legs, tracing his strong thighs but carefully avoiding the stout pink cock that waits there, slightly stiff but obediently still. Instead, she ruffles through the dark hair of his crotch, until he squirms and asks, husky, “Is this allowed here?”

He’s good about respecting their home, maybe just so he won’t get thrown out again, and Tauriel appreciates that, even if the rebel in her often wants to say, _no, but let’s do it anyway._ She shakes her head and smoothes her hand across his stomach. He dips down her thigh to cup her soft folds, earning another gasp. She’s already slightly moist and could grow wet so _easily_ , but he doesn’t fondle her as he’s wont to do. He just traces her body, never lingering, and she does the same, now feeling every part of him and drinking in the contrast, the similarities, all the differences and the perfect way they fit together. He feels _right_ at her side.

She murmurs, “But we can look and touch.”

He asks, “And taste?” He wears that mischievous grin with a twinkle in his eye, and Tauriel leans forward to brush their lips together. 

He’s warm, so _hot_ , growing slick with sweat from the steam, and it only highlights his attractiveness. It accentuates his feral smell. He’s like no one else she’s ever been with. He looks at her with a connection no one else could rival, and finally, it’s more than she can take. 

She asks, “Would you like to move to one of the more private rooms?” 

He says, “I’d follow you anywhere,” and finds her hand to squeeze.

She guides him up again, and he stops her before they rise completely, cutely finger-combing out her hair. Then they’re on their feet, and she takes them to one of the side chambers, smiling like she’s held the stars.


End file.
